by Karen Nilsen
Chapter Twenty-Eight--Mordric
"Eden here to see you, sir." Randel's voice sounded oddly muffled, as if he spoke through wool.
I opened my eyes and realized I was stretched out on the settle, my cloak pulled over my head. I couldn't remember how it got there. I sat up, the cloak sliding to the floor. Blinding light pierced my eyeballs, and I swore, blocking the day with my arm. "Close the drapes, damn it. What time is it?"
"Ten o'clock, sir."
All my bones ached--the settle was hard wood with no cushions and God knew how long I had lain there. "Hell flames," I said, my throat on fire. "Is there any water?"
Randel moved around the chamber. "Here."
I drained the tumbler. "You said Eden?"
"Yes."
"Give me a quarter hour, and I'll see her."
"Do you want anything to eat?"
"No, later." I set the tumbler down with a loud clink that reverberated painfully in my ears.
"Sir, you haven't eaten since noon yesterday . . ."
"If I wanted nagging, I would marry again. Leave me."
When the door clicked shut behind him, I stayed on the settle for several minutes. Then I rose and made my way over to the side table where Randel had put a large pitcher and basin. Only a few candles lit the chamber, and I bumped into the corner of my desk and a chair. I kicked the chair, and it clattered over on its side. I bent down, my head swimming, and picked it up, but when I went to set it right, one of the legs cracked down the middle. I threw it against the desk. The leg fell off.
"Merchant-made bastard chair," I muttered, sucking on my finger where a splinter had broken the skin.
I gripped the edge of the table when I reached it to steady myself before I filled the basin. Even so, water splashed everywhere. I plunged my entire face in the basin over and over again. The water was cold and cleared my head almost as well as a good slap. Arilea used to slap me when I got this bad.
Finally I straightened, ran my hands down my dripping jaw. It was covered with straggly beard. I glanced around for a razor but saw none. I could use my dagger but with the way my hands were shaking, I didn't dare.
The door opened as I finished drinking a second tumbler of water. "I told you to leave me, damn it," I growled as Randel entered.
He bowed, seeming not to hear me. "The lady Eden," he announced. "And Sir Cyril will be here momentarily."
"Oh hell." I had already forgotten I had said Eden could see me. And Cyril? My hand went for my sword hilt, only to clutch at air. I glanced around the chamber. I had to have my sword--I felt naked without it. "Before I sack you for being a lying son of a bitch, where did you hide my blade?"
"It's in the corner, sir. Where you left it."
I buckled on the sword as Randel lit a few more candles and tidied the chamber. Without a word, he hid the broken chair behind the drapes, letting in a flash of painful light. Before I could curse, the flash was gone, and Randel was over at the door, inviting in Eden and Cyril. I stood behind the main table where I saw tenants and went over ledgers, my hands braced on the edge. There was a sudden fleeting coldness at my neck, a mocking whisper in my ear Not long now, my love. I turned my head sharply, but she was already gone.
Eden slid into the chair directly across the table, her eyes regarding me with a narrow glance. Cyril cleared his throat and claimed the armchair, his back not touching the upholstery. I nodded to both, the barest politeness I could muster. "Randel, bring some refreshment," I said.
Cyril shook his head. "I'm fine, thank you."
"Fruit and coffee for me," Eden said. Then she paused, glancing at me again. "And a glass of water and powders for Sir Mordric."
Impudent hussy. I glared at her but said nothing in front of Cyril. Later she would catch it--she had become far too assured of her place.
"Last I called, you were ill," Cyril said stiffly. "I take it you're improved."
"Save the court pleasantries. Why are you here?"
"All right." He leaned back in his chair, his hands folded together. "I'll be blunt. When are you returning to council?"
"That's none of your affair."
"I'm the noble head of the council. I can replace you. It's certainly my affair, Mordric."
"Fine. Replace me."
Both he and Eden started, a flicker of shock that ran through the chamber with lightning intensity. "So I take it you're not returning at all?" he said finally.
"That's right."
"That's ridiculous," he exploded. "To quit like that . . . you have a sworn duty to this province, damn it."
"It's not your place to comment on my judgment or my duty. I'll stand no insult, Cyril."
He rose. "Mordric, I demand an explanation."
I rose myself, reaching for my sword. "I told you I would stand no insult."
He stepped back, held his hands up, palms out. "All right, all right. I'll not duel with you again, not over this. But I do think I warrant an explanation."
"Why?"
"Despite the fact I'm none too fond of you, we are allies, kinsmen through Merius, and your defection from the council is a grievous loss to our cause. Losing Merius during the campaign was bad enough, but now we're two votes short until he returns."
"He's not returning either, is he?" Eden asked quietly, her damned sharp eyes missing nothing.
Cyril turned towards her. "What?"
"He's joined the king's guard permanently, I do believe."
"How do you know that?" I said.
"Something Selwyn let slip earlier."
Randel entered at that moment, carrying a small tray. He set it on the table. I reached for the water and powders and gulped it all down, not even taking the time to grimace at the bitter taste. "Eden, you've spoken out of turn, and I shall not let it pass. There was no call for you to speculate publicly in front of our guest about a private family matter, a matter of which you know nothing."
"I thought Sir Cyril deserved to know the truth." Her unblinking gaze never left mine. She would never have been so free with her information unless she had an ulterior motive--Eden planned her carelessness carefully. What the hell was she plotting now, the viper? Bringing Cyril here, telling him private family business in front of me, deliberately baiting me . . . I had trained her too well for it not to mean something.
"Leave us now, Eden. Wait in the hall--I'll talk to you when Cyril and I are finished here. Randel, escort her out." He nodded, understanding that I meant for him to guard her until I could deal with this latest affront.
"Is this true?" Cyril demanded. "Has Merius forsaken his duties?"
I took a deep breath. "Yes, Merius has joined the king's guard."
"And when did you intend to inform the council of this?"
"After I spoke with him."
"So this may not be a permanent defection?"
"I'll be free, Cyril. There's not much hope of him returning. He's forsaken his inheritance as well." I glanced around, searched for the gleam of a bottle, but Randel had taken them all but the decanter of wine, damn him.
There was a long silence. Cyril said finally, his voice quiet, "This is a hard blow. After my son joined the king's guard, I looked to my nephew Darin to fill my council seat, which he will. He's a good, steady sort, Darin, and I'll be glad to leave it to him. But he's not a leader. Merius is a leader. We elders need him, need his new blood, for when we turn dotard and retire. He's the only young noble who could take the reins."
"I know."
"What the hell is he thinking?" Cyril brought his fist down on the table. "His inheritance too--he must be mad. Perhaps the thin air of Marennese mountains addled him."
"He has good reason."
"What reason?"
I stared at my hands, clasped together over my lap. "You spoke more truly than I realized several months past when you said that no man of honor could last long as my son."
"As I said, I'm none too fond of you," he said finally, "but I shouldn't have questioned your honor. You have methods of ha
ndling opposition which I don't approve. However, we would have no footing on the council without you or your methods."
"Perhaps not. My methods, as you call them, seem to work well with men like Peregrine. But Merius is not like Peregrine. I interfered where I shouldn't have, and it's cost me my son."
Cyril leaned forward. "Mordric, he's young, proud, hot-tempered, but he's far from a fool. He'll cool down and return soon enough."
"Your son hasn't returned to council."
"My son still has his inheritance. You were wise to bind up your offices and lands in one package, so to speak."
"It was a foolhardy risk, with Merius's stubborn pride."
"Nonsense." Cyril waved his hand dismissively. "You still hold the purse strings--he'll be around in a few months or so, when what coin he has runs out."
"You speak like the hopeful cynic I know you're not. Thank you, but I need no false hopes. He won't be back, Cyril. He'll starve with the dogs in the street before he'll take another coin of mine." I rested my elbows on the table and pressed my palms over my eyes.
"I should have left the cynicism to you." He sighed, and there was a quiet moment. "Perhaps there is some way of mending it you haven't considered?"
I lowered my hands and looked at him. "I've done what I could to mend it, but it's a difficult situation."
Cyril clapped his palms down on the armrests as if preparing to rise and do battle. "All right then. By your account, Merius's return to the council and his duties is out of our hands. Your return, however . . ."
"No."
He plowed on. "Your return, however, is the reason I came today."
"I no longer have an heir. What's the point?"
"We need your vote, Mordric."
"I don't give a damn about my vote."
"Ah, but the king and I do."
"Fine. As I said, replace me."
"No. It's not that simple. You swore an oath when you joined the council. Your appointment ends with incapacity or death.”
“I would consider myself incapacitated at this point.”
“On your worst days, you’re twice as capable as anyone I could replace you with. If you leave now, like this, the merchant riffraff will win. Is that what you want?”
“Cyril, I told you. I don’t give a damn.”
He shrugged. “You don’t give a damn if that ass Sullay ends up head of council in a year? You don‘t give a damn if Prince Segar becomes king and taxes us nobles out of existence to pay for his frivolities? You don‘t give a damn if the SerVerin Empire sees how weak we are with Prince Segar on the throne and the merchants run amuck? You want your grandchildren to speak SerVerinese?”
“You exaggerate. You always use too blunt a blade when you argue, Cyril.”
He ignored my insult, carried off by the force of his words. He loved to make speeches. “Whether or not Merius is in the king’s guard, I doubt you want to leave him and his children with such a legacy--dishonest merchants like Sullay running the council and the name of Landers but an empty memory of honor and nobility. You‘ve worked for years to build the House of Landers’s reputation at court, and now you wreck all of it because you and Merius had an argument? God knows, you two have argued before--what‘s so different now?”
Blunt edge or not, some of his words were beginning to sound sensible. Or perhaps the effects of too much whiskey had begun to wear off. Whichever it was, I no longer felt so hopeless about Merius. It had only been a few weeks since he had punched me and stormed out of his chamber at court to find Safire, hardly enough time for him to realize the value of his position as a wealthy, influential Landers now that he was married. If he was on his own, a bachelor in the king’s guard, it would have been hopeless. Merius was stubborn enough to deprive himself for years to make a point, but I wagered the first time he couldn’t afford Safire a new frock or bauble would be a rude shock for him. He wouldn’t want to deprive her. His love for that witch was now his biggest weak spot. I smiled to myself, Cyril still blathering on about honor and upholding the family name.
A cold hand brushed the back of my neck, and I swatted at the air, irritated. She had irked me during the last couple weeks with her icy touch and nasty whispers. More than once, I had drained the whiskey bottle to escape her, but that only seemed to embolden her. Go away, Arilea.
That fool Cyril doesn’t know anything. Merius will never return, not after what you‘ve done. Her voice was soft, cajoling. You might as well stay here with me.
I bit back bitter laughter, lest Cyril notice. With you? You’re dead.
There are ways, love. What do you have at court, now that Merius is gone? You might as well be here with me.
Merius gone? You talk like he’s dead too. Hush, Arilea--I’ve had enough of you.
You’ll listen, whether you want to or not. Her voice hardened, her words like water freezing in my ears.
“Get out of here,” I muttered, forcing myself to ignore her cursing, her cold breath on my neck. When I ignored her, she lost her power.
“What was that, Mordric?” Cyril asked, pausing in his speech.
“Nothing.”
“What do you think about what I’ve said?”
“You may have a point about Merius. I don’t know.”
“Will you at least consider returning to council?” he asked.
I smiled. “If I return to council next week, will you shut up now and leave?”
“I’ll take your ill manners and scorn as a good sign. I won’t leave, though, till you swear on the Landers name to return to council.”
“I’ll not swear to anything, you ass. I just said I’d return. That should be good enough for you. Here, have some wine--we’ll toast to it.” I grabbed the decanter and poured us both a measure.
He lifted his glass without further comment until he quaffed it. “Good wine,” he said, wiping his mouth before he held out his glass for more.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I made Eden wait for an hour after Cyril left. I had to eat, and it seemed best to let the hussy stew for a while. When Randel ushered her into the chamber, she took her seat, her narrow eyes scanning all the exits. The pointed nails of her right hand lightly drummed the armrest, her left hand clutched in the folds of her skirt as she gazed at me.
I took out my pipe and proceeded to fill it leisurely. Not one stray leaf fell to the table in the thick silence. I snapped my fingers for Randel, and Eden jumped. Not much, but enough so that I noticed. Randel brought over a candle, and I lit the pipe, puffing it until there was a large cloud of smoke around my head. "Anything else, sir?" he asked.
"No, you're free to go. Now, Eden," I said, sinking back in my chair. "Was it your idea to bring Cyril in here without informing me first?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why?"
"I knew you wouldn't see him otherwise."
"True enough. He's far from a friend. I already refused to see him once, and you knew that. It was flagrant presumption on your part to bring him here. What do you have to say for yourself?"
She licked her lips and rubbed them together. Then she straightened. "He's the only man who has had the mettle in the last ten years to challenge you to a duel. I figured he was the only one who would last long enough in this chamber to convince you to return to court."
I took a long draw on my pipe. "Bold hussy. Is that what you told him?"
"No, he approached me, worried about your absence from council. I said I would find a way for him to see you, and that's all I said."
"At least you're discreet in your defiance."
"You've taught me well." Her mouth curved into the hint of a smile, the same knowing full-lipped dip she used to lure her marks at court.
"Don't simper--it's irritating." I banged my pipe on the table edge.
"Yes, sir." But she continued smiling. I ignored her.
"So, how should I punish you?"
"Punish me, sir?" Her yellow eyes glowed, amber as a cat's.
"I think confinement here for the summer wo
uld be appropriate."
"Here?" The vixen tease vanished. She straightened, her lip curling down in distaste. "Here?"
"The country air will do you good. You can assist Dagmar and Talia with their missions of mercy among the peasants, act like a real lady for a change."
"I'm not ministering to any peasants. They have fleas."
"With how catty you are, a few fleas shouldn't bother you, my dear."
"But you need me at court . . ."
"Eden, I don't need anyone but myself at court. I would like to have you at court--you can be useful. But I don't need you. You'd best remember that and behave yourself in the future."
"Yes, sir," she said. I had to give her credit--at least she wasn't pouting. Eden was not a pouter.
Randel entered the chamber then without knocking, his face pale. "Merius is here."
I stood up so swiftly that my chair toppled back. "Where is Whitten?"
"I don't know." Randel swallowed.
"Selwyn said Whitten was on business in Calcors," Eden said, "which really means he's at the crossroads tavern."
